


The Truth Beneath the Rose

by Vipersweb (Rhianona)



Series: Immortal Ianto [3]
Category: Highlander: The Series, Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-18
Updated: 2009-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 12:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhianona/pseuds/Vipersweb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After leaving Torchwood and moving to New York, Ianto runs into an old friend of his</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth Beneath the Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: [Insert witty comment here] Torchwood and Highlander don't belong to me.
> 
> Author's Note: Okay. I wasn't going to return to this 'verse, but then miss_zedem announced her Fluff battle and there was a New York prompt, and I couldn't resist. This takes place tentatively after Ianto leaves Cardiff in part five of Four Times TW Discovers Ianto's Immortal and One Time They Don't. It's mostly fluff. Really.

The pulse of the City beat a discernible rhythm, electrifying the skin and soul in a way that others could rarely imitate. Each and every time he stepped within the City limits, he felt _alive_ in a way that he rarely felt elsewhere. Time changed New York, the neighborhoods ebbing and flowing each year, evolving into different slices of the world, but always - _always_ \- it held a life of its own, infecting its inhabitants with a special type of fever that dissipated once outside the five boroughs.

As he wandered through the crowds, sidestepping the slow moving tourists who gaped with awe at their surroundings, he wondered why he hadn't returned here earlier. After leaving his life in Cardiff - leaving the persona of Ianto Jones behind - he had adopted a new name and returned to New York as the great grandson of an old identity. Good bye, Ianto Jones, hello Jonathan Harrison Devereaux Hardwicke IV, lately of South Africa. It felt strange to speak without the rolling vowels of the Welsh accent he had affected for the last few years, just as it felt strange to have tanned skin (thank you tanning salons!) and professionally lightened hair, but also strangely liberating.

Taking up his new life as Jonathan H.D. Hardwicke IV had proven easier than he had expected. He chose to reside in the heart of Greenwich Village - in one of his older homes. He looked like a graduate student - albeit one with independent income - as he moved about, exploring the City. He spent his days in the coffee shops of the Village, lap top open as he wrote down his memories, updating his personal journals. Sometimes, he wandered through the used bookstores that dotted the neighborhood, looking for hidden and unexpected treasures. Some nights, he took his place among the New York elite, his status as the young scion of an old New York family assuring him entry into places even his wealth from the "family" businesses wouldn't get him. And on other nights, he wandered the streets aimlessly, or had dinner in small and hidden restaurants, or went to bars and listened to music - just as he had the last time he had chosen to live in New York. Time changed New York, but it also remained the same, still pulling the same types of people to its bosom and flirting with discovery.

He liked it. Soon, Jonathan had a wide circle of friends encompassing people from all walks of life. He had gained a reputation for eccentricity, but he didn't care. He had lived so very carefully, his last few lifetimes, hiding away in academia or government bureaucracy. And while he sometimes missed the quiet routine of that type of life, he hadn't realized just how much he had missed the delicate dance of society: the barbs and games that people played, the intrigues and gossip that thrived, the deals made and agreed upon - he loved how it made him feel alive.

Last night, he had attended a charity benefit; tonight, he wanted a quiet evening at home. He had spent the day in a rare bookshop, speaking with the owner about her trade, and teasing her with hints of what resided in his own collection.

"Now, Mr. Hardwicke, that's hardly fair, teasing me like this! Especially when you say your library isn't even in this country!" she chided.

"Ah, my fair Miss Timmons, a thousand apologies. I'll see if I can have someone ship it to me, for you to look at," he promised. She laughed with him, clutching a book to her chest and he leaned forward. "Of course, I won't let it out of my sight, so you'll have to join me for dinner."

"Is that so?" she asked, eyebrow raising.

He nodded solemnly. "Oh, yes." He opened his mouth to say more, when the trickle of presence slammed into him. He stiffened, eyes narrowing as he casually shifted his head to the entrance of the shop. He had no desire to fight anyone this day, so hoped whoever it was did not Challenge him. Unfortunately, his fellow Immortal had yet to enter.

"Mr. Hardwicke? Is everything okay?" Miss Timmons asked as she laid a tentative hand across his sleeve.

He mentally shook himself. He couldn't afford to get distracted. Quickly, he cast through his mind for an easy explanation. "I was just trying to gather the courage to ask for your number," he said with an easy grin, pulling out his Blackberry.

She blushed, but obligingly leaned forward and entered her number. Before she could say anything more, the bell above the door chimed. They turned as one to see who had entered, and Jonathan could feel his mouth drop open in surprise. "Dear gods!" he commented, striding forward, recognizing the strong nose and lean and lanky form before him. "It's been far too long since I've seen you!" he greeted, hauling the other into a hug. "Name's Jonathan Hardwicke now," he whispered into the other's ear.

"Adam," the other replied in kind, his breath tickling and stirring feelings and memories of centuries' past. Jonathan felt a smirk rise to his face. Maybe tonight wouldn't be as quiet as he had thought. "I thought I recognized you through the window," Methos explained his entrance.

"I didn't know you were here," Jonathan continued. "Are you visiting? Or do you live here now?"

"Just passing through," Methos commented.

"Well, we'll have to do dinner," Jonathan declared. He turned to where Miss Timmons hovered. "I'm sorry dear lady, to cut my visit here so short." She shook her head in denial, smiling at his theatrics and the way he played the crowd.

"Don't worry, Mr. Hardwicke. I won't keep you," she assured him. "Off with you!"

He smiled gallantly at her, and dragged Methos with him out to the street. "I'm very glad it's you," he commented as he led the other to his house. "I'm not in the mood to fight today. Do you have dinner plans?"

Methos shook his head in wonder. "You're very hyper," he observed. Normally, the one who now called himself Jonathan displayed a more demure and sober mien. He wondered what had gotten into his long-time friend.

Jonathan shrugged. "It's New York, I'm rich, and my time is my own." It was as good an explanation as any.

They reached the small alley off of University that led to his house. "I didn't think anyone actually lived in these," Methos commented as they entered one of the Mew houses.

"Nah. Some of the professors at the university rent. I get an offer for it every couple of years from the university, but I always refuse. I'm just glad I had that connection to Sailor Snug Harbor, when it offered it up for sale in the '30's. I'm terribly fond of it," he explained as he tossed his house keys into a bowl on the hall table. "Beer?" he asked as he headed towards the kitchen.

"Always," Methos called out, his attention arrested by the paintings that decorated the walls. The paintings ranged from Renaissance finery to impressionist etherealness in style. "Nice collection," he commented as Jonathan handed him a bottle.

"Thanks," Jonathan replied with a crooked grin. "Amazing what appreciates in value." Methos laughed, understanding completely what Jonathan meant. He had a similar collection in a forgotten estate somewhere in Europe. He wagered that all Immortals of a certain age do.

"So, I was thinking dinner at one of my favorite restaurants," Jonathan hinted.

"What? No home-cooked meal?" Methos pouted.

"This _is_ New York," Jonathan commented. Again, Methos laughed. Eating out was a favorite past time of New Yorkers, excused in part by the tiny kitchens that typified a normal New York apartment. Of course, the Mew house had an actual kitchen, but it was an anomaly.

"Where were you thinking?" Methos asked, curious to see where his friend would take him.

"There's this great little restaurant on Greenwich. You'll love it. They do the most amazing things with Sidecars. Or you can have the best Bloody Mary in the City."

"I'll take your word," Methos shrugged.

"Cool. So, what's going on?" Jonathan asked, grabbing him by the elbow and bringing him to the library cum study.

They spent the next hour or so, catching up on the more superficial aspects of their lives. More exchanging gossip about acquaintances they held in common, than anything real. But they also found themselves slipping into the past, long dead languages slipping from their tongues unbidden, determined to share the latest news without letting others know the truth of their kind. It didn't matter that they currently sat in Jonathan's home, a place as safe as any home owned by an Immortal. Habit bespoke millennia of survival.

Later, after they walk to the restaurant, and after Jonathan's second Sidecar and Methos' Bloody Mary - Jonathan had been right; it was a damned good Bloody Mary - Methos finally asked the question he had wanted to all night.

"Last I heard, you were in Cardiff, and pretty happy. Why'd you leave?"

Jonathan dragged a finger across the lip of his glass, frowning slightly. "I was… but it wasn't enough." He smiled self-deprecatedly. "I went to Cardiff, hoping I could save my student. I had to… say goodbye to her instead." As good a euphemism as any. He still had nightmares about the aftermath of taking her head. He had spent months settling her Quickening.

His eyes darkened in sympathy. There was little worse than taking one's own student. "Daniel mentioned something about a lover?" Methos asked delicately.

"Ah… Jack," Jonathan acknowledged. He shrugged, leaning back against the booth. "You know, he's immortal," he confided quietly. "Not like us. But can't be killed. No buzz or anything."

"What?!" Methos asked astounded.

"Yep. Something strange happened to him far in the future. It involves the Doctor," Jonathan informed his companion, as if that explained everything. Sadly, Methos reflected, it did. "So, he can't die. But you know how when you're, well… new? And you just _cling_ to mortals?" he asked.

Methos nodded, already understanding where Jonathan came from.

"Yeah," Jonathan confirmed, slightly bitter. "He can't let go. It wouldn't be so bad, if he hadn't fixated on one of my colleagues as being the most 'in touch' with her emotions," he explained. "In the end, I got tired of waiting. He just… I… Not just because of him, of course. But it's been a really difficult three years." He sighed, taking a sip of his drink, banishing with practiced ease the memories of Canary Wharf and the smell of blood and fire and ash. "It wasn't love… not precisely. But… it could have been. So very easily. And, I really thought he could let go of things, when he returned after his trip with the Doctor. But then… Tosh and Owen died and he just clung. And I realized he just wasn't ready. I was never going to be enough, not for him. He needed to… cling to the idea of normality," Jonathan shrugged, as if it didn't matter to him. "I couldn't deal with it - didn't want to, really."

"Tough luck," Methos sympathized.

"Yeah. Well, can't win them all. Maybe in a few centuries, Jack will be able to deal. Of course, I have to keep my head until then," he replied ruefully.

"Well, I've always preached that you should grow stronger and live to fight another day," Methos quipped.

Jonathan raised his glass in salute. "So you have!" With practiced ease, he turned the conversation to less painful conversations, learning what had occurred in his friend's life.

"I was surprised, of course," Jonathan commented as he ate his delightful swordfish, "when Daniel told me how involved in the Game you were again."

"Couldn't help myself really," Methos replied. "The Highlander is strangely compelling."

Jonathan made a moue of disgust. "I don't need to get dragged into conflicts."

"It's not like that! Really!" Methos insisted. Jonathan just looked at him until he sighed. "Okay, maybe it is. But, I feel more alive than I have in centuries."

"Each to his own, I suppose," Jonathan shrugged.

"Well, you're more likely to run into someone now that you live in New York," Methos warned.

"Yeah, I know. I've always had good luck though, living in New York. I don't know why, but I've rarely had problems when I've lived here in the past," Jonathan mused. "Of course, I've probably just jinxed myself, but… it's time I lived dangerously."

Methos laughed. "You're even more cautious than me. I'm still trying to figure out how you've managed to stay out of the Watcher's radar, when I can't."

"Superlative planning," Jonathan bragged. He giggled at the annoyed look on Methos' face. "Seriously. I just make sure I 'die' every so often, and then hide away at one of my estates until they forget all about me. Of course, I've also taken the time to hide away my chronicles and erase any hint of myself as still having a head."

"You're better than me," Methos grouched. "I was a just a fucking legend until the Highlander found me and dragged me into the light."

"And you loved it," Jonathan teased.

He shrugged. He didn't actually like that he was no longer considered a myth, but he also like the feeling of being alive that the Highlander had forced upon him.

By the time they left the restaurant, they had each reached a comfortable level of intoxication. "You want to come back to mine?" Jonathan asked, a little less elegantly than he might have once upon a time. Of course, the last time he and Methos had even been around each other, Christianity had been a new fad. He was a bit out of practice, but he needed the comfort of a friend, after he had opened some of the more recent wounds that he had this night.

Methos looked at him speculatively, before nodding. "As long as I won't be ruining your reputation."

"Nah," Jonathan laughed. "Jonathan H.D. Hardwicke is a fun loving guy, don't you know."

"If you say so." Methos swung an arm around Jonathan, breathing in his scent. "I've missed you. I could really kill you, for disappearing as long as you have."

"I've missed you too," Jonathan admitted. "I'll have to tell you the system I use." Methos understood that Jonathan wouldn't cease his habit of killing off his latest Immortal persona and then disappearing for a generation or two before popping up somewhere completely unexpected. From comments dropped by Daniel, he knew that Jonathan only let a few of his students know he was still alive, when he did that.

"I would like that."

"I'm glad," Jonathan said. "Of course, if you ever want to join me, I think my Egyptian estate could use some company," he offered. Methos smiled as he heard the invitation.

"We have time." And they did. "You don't want to give up Hardwicke too soon. Enjoy him as much as you can."

"As you say," Jonathan agreed. He glanced over to his companion's face before kissing him. "Let's go. My bed is _very_ comfortable," he grinned impishly.

"Can't say no to that," Methos agreed, matching his quickened pace. Who knew when he had agreed to stop in New York, he would find an old friend? He wasn't going to complain.

**Author's Note:**

> Some trivia: the Mew house that Ianto refers to are a series of homes located in the Washington Mews off of Washington Square Park, between University and 5th Avenue. They were originally owned by Sailor's Snug Harbor and served as carriage houses and stables to the homes on the Square. They were all sold to NYU in the late 1930s after the automobile became more prevalent. They are currently really nice homes, rented to professors, except for three language houses, which are home to their offices. Really, Ianto couldn't own one of them as NYU bought them all, but I adore them, so for my purpose he does. The restaurant Ianto takes Methos to is 41 Greenwich and it really does have one of the best Bloody Mary's I've ever had. They also make the most amazing Sidecar. It's my drink of choice when I go there, to the point where I've converted the wait staff to it.


End file.
